


When I can be with you

by motionalocean



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Barebacking, Community: inception-kink, Jealousy, M/M, Ridiculously feely talky smut, Rimming, brief Eames/OMCs (it's okay; Arthur doesn't like it either), pornstar Eames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:18:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motionalocean/pseuds/motionalocean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inception-kink <a href="http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/19177.html?thread=45366761#t45366761">prompt</a>: Eames, a porn star, starts dating Arthur, a non-porn star. At first, Arthur is cool with the idea until he sees one of Eames' videos and starts feeling jealous. When Eames notices this, he pins Arthur down and fucks him while describing in great detail how he can only come at work now if he pictures Arthur during those scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I can be with you

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. Concrit welcome!

 

The box on the top shelf of the linen closet is marked “Family Letters” in Eames’s scrawling, all-caps handwriting. Which is perfectly acceptable. People keep such things, Arthur is told. He himself has a pet rock that his grandmother gave to him when he turned six. It’s low and oblong with an odd knob at one end, and Arthur named it “Turtle” almost two decades ago. So he can understand sentimentality. Except that Eames’s family made its fortune off of computers before Eames was a twinkle in _anyone’s_ eye. If any of Eames’s relatives had put pen to paper in over thirty years, Arthur would eat a cat. Tail and all.

“Jackpot,” he says, and fetches the stepstool. The box does not contain letters. It contains DVDs.

_Love That Ass._

_Tectonic Seduction._

_Hole in One._

_Snake’s Tongue._

There are fifteen or so, each with a name more suggestive than the last. On the covers are leather pants, jockstraps, butts, balls, dildos, tongues. Arthur scours each DVD he takes from the box until he locates Eames’s name. It’s small in the earlier films, usually lost in a footnote on the back. The more recent ones have “Eames” written prominently below the title. The latest one, _Stir It Up_ , shows Eames in all his glory, bending another man over the bar at a club, raising his face in ecstasy. You can’t see the face of the other man. But really, if you can see Eames, what else matters?

Arthur sits back, examining the mosaic of porn spread across his boyfriend’s living room floor. Suddenly, his afternoon doesn’t look so bleak. He pulls out his phone.

“You know I’m hard at work, don’t you darling?” Eames answers on the second ring.

“You’d probably be fired if you weren’t.”

“Touché. I hope your afternoon is going well?”

“I started cleaning.”

There is a moment of silence. “Arthur, darling, you can’t just… I mean you don’t… You cleaned my apartment?”

“I was bored. But don’t worry, I found something to occupy myself. I just wanted your opinion.” Arthur surveys the veritable feast of porn in front of him. “ _All He’s Got_ or _Boys like Cars and Money_?” He couldn’t help a smirk at the choked sound that came through the phone. “ _Cars and Money_ sounds like it has plot. Is it worthwhile? Because that boy in _All He’s Got_ , Jesus, he looks sixteen. Do you prefer younger men, Mr. Eames?”

“You know the answer to that one, love. I must say, I’m surprised. But if you’re in the mood, I’d go with _Cars and Money_. Or _Surf’s Up Slut_. Though if you’re ever tempted to have sex on a surfboard, think again.”

“Oh don’t worry, Mr. Eames, I’m sure I’ll be able to notice the inherent inaccuracies and flaws of each of your, um, films.”

“You wound me, Arthur. Sorry, I’ve got to run, more porn to shoot for my apparently critical boyfriend. I’ll try and make it look believable this time. Just for you.”

“Thanks. Kick some ass. Or, you know, lick it.”

“I will. But that’s arse, to you.”

“Tomato, tomato,” Arthur replies, pronouncing them both the American way.

Eames smacks a wet-sounding kiss. Arthur hangs up.

\---

He starts with the earliest film, _One for All_. Within a couple minutes he has his pants unzipped and is rubbing himself through his boxers. Eames has a minor role; he’s really just one more body in the writhing mass of men. There’s no way that Arthur could miss him, though. His face stands out. His tattoos illuminate him.

Arthur’s really not one for gangbangs, though, so he pulls another disc randomly from the pile. It’s from near the middle of Eames’s career, and seems to focus on a lust-circle. Eames’s character works in an office – except it doesn’t seem to be an office that is connected to any sort of company – and is lusting after the intern who brings him coffee, except the intern is paying for the coffee with blowjobs for the barista. The barista is sleeping with a college professor, who is a housemate of Eames’s. Their house has pantsless Tuesdays.

_Here we go_ , Arthur thinks as the professor puts the moves on Eames’s character. Really, it’s not even moves. It’s more catching him on the couch, kneeling over him and sticking his cock down Eames’s throat. Arthur wiggles out of his boxers, sitting on Eames’s armchair in a position mirrored by Eames on the TV. His fist is sliding along his cock, sweeping beads of precome down along the shaft. Eames moans around the cock in his mouth, and the professor moans, and Arthur has to tighten his grip.

Then Eames is pushing the professor away, and Arthur shakes his head “no.” But the prof is having none of it. He grabs Eames and rolls him off the couch. Eames is on his hands and knees, bare ass in the air, mouthing towards the prof’s cock.

“Nuh uh,” the prof tells him, and strokes the head of his cock along Eames’s forehead before walking around behind him. The camera angle changes to side-on and Eames’s head falls to the carpet as the other man’s cock rubs up his crack.

Eames spreads his knees wider, arches his back so his ass is angled upwards. Arthur’s hand is flying, he’s panting, his legs fall open a little more and his hips start thrusting into his hand.

“You want that?” The prof rubs the tip of his cock down Eames’s cleft.

“Oh yeah, give it to me.”

“Ask for it. Ask for what you want.”

“Please,” Eames moans, thrusting backwards. “Please, I want your cock. Please.”

“That’s right you do,” the prof says, and shoves in. Eames keens.

Arthur looks down at his suddenly uninterested cock. “What the _fuck!_ ”

\---

Eames had been open about his career from their second date. Somehow their first date had skipped right past “what’s your name” and “what do you do with your time when you’re not out at skeezy clubs picking up boys” and gone ahead to “damn, your lips would look fan-fucking-tastic wrapped around my cock.” Eames had disappeared the next morning while Arthur was in the shower, but had called that afternoon to ask him to dinner. Arthur could hardly resist.

“So, Mr. Eames, what do you do when you’re not out seducing pretty little things like me?”

“I’m an actor, in adult films.”

Arthur nearly chokes on his steak, and has to guzzle some wine to make it go down correctly.

“ _Seriously_? You know, when I said you had porn-star lips, I was mostly kidding.”

“Mm, no you weren’t.”

“Okay, no I wasn’t, but… Jesus!” He saw Eames open his mouth to speak again, and held up a hand. “Hold on.”

_I just had sex with a porn star. I just had sex with a porn star; I just had brilliant fucking sex with a fucking porn star!_

“I haven’t seen you in anything.”

Eames looks amused. “No, but you’ve seen me out of everything.”

“Fuck off, I meant your movies.”

“Ah, that. Well. The agency I work for is, uh, rather exclusive, one could say.”

It turns out that the company Eames works for caters to individual rich eccentrics, who work with the writers and directors to produce a personalized film, which they pay large amounts of money for on the condition that they get the only copy.

“So, it’s like… I mean, how can… How does that even _work_?”

Eames smiles. “Large amounts of money.”

“So you can support yourself on it then? I mean, it’s your only job?” Eames’s vaguely amused look fades, and Arthur backpedals. “I’m sorry, it’s really none of my business, forget I asked that.”

“No, it’s alright. I figure you do have a right to know. Or at least, I hope you will.” Arthur looks puzzled. “I mean, we had a great time last night. I was hoping you’d be up for more. But it’s something I need to be up front about, you know. Kind of awkward a few months or weeks in when I have to explain that I’ve been shagging other men the entire time.”

“Ah.” He nods. “Yes, I suppose that could be… alarming. But…” he scratches a tong of his fork on the plate, and looks around. It’s a rather fancy restaurant. He lowers his voice. “But it’s safe, right? I mean, you’re all tested, and use condoms, and everything, right?”

“Of course.” And for once there is no hint of play in Eames’s face. “The screening is extremely rigorous. There aren’t always condoms, but if that’s the case then the screening is even tighter. It’s my career, Arthur, and there’s no way in hell I’d let it jeopardize me or my personal life. But we need to be on the same page if there’s a possibility of moving forward with this.” A flick of his finger indicates the two of them.

“I see. I appreciate that, Eames, really. Thank you.” Arthur frowns. “I’m impressed. I like that you take it seriously. I wouldn’t really peg you as being extraordinarily mature or responsible, you know. Based on our interactions so far.” The man had personalized his ringtone on Arthur’s phone to “Call Me Maybe.”

“Well. There’s a time to every purpose, is there not?” He leans forward and stroked a finger down the back of Arthur’s hand. “I could go back to seducing pretty little things like you, if you’d prefer. Dessert?”

\---

Almost a year later, Arthur has finally found Eames’s personal collection of his own films. Is it like his portfolio, Arthur wonders, if he ever wants another job?

Arthur’s sitting in the dark, staring blankly out the window when the front door opens.

“You’re home late. Shooting run long?”

Eames sighs, slides his keys along the countertop, drops his bag and kicks the door shut. “For bloody ever. And I needed to talk with my boss after.” He drops a kiss on Arthur’s cheek and freezes when Arthur pulls away. “It’s alright, I showered before I left.”

“There’s soup on the stove.”

Eames blinks at the back of his head, then turns towards the kitchen. “Thank you, Arthur; you know how much I appreciate a warm welcome.” He ladles some noodles into a bowl, and rests his hip on the corner of the counter. Arthur hasn’t turned around. “Did you have a good evening? Enjoy my films?”

“Mm. Went for a run.”

Eames scans the room. There are no signs of his DVDs. “Are you ok?” He puts the bowl down uneaten and walks to sit next to Arthur, who gives him a strained smile and hops up.

“Fine. Perfectly fine. I just… I didn’t get much done today. I think I’ll work a bit. This thesis won’t write itself, you know. Don’t stay up.”

“Arthur. Arthur!” The other man stops. “Is that it?”

Arthur’s eyes scan the room from TV to couch to kitchen to Eames. “I’ve just… I’ve got stuff on my mind, alright? I’m gonna go listen to bad music and find another fifteen references. Are… are you working tomorrow?”

Eames shakes his head. “We should have a day. There’s some things I want to talk to you about.”

“Yeah. Me too.” He almost walks away, then turns back. “Good night.”

“Night, love. Thanks for the soup.”

\---

Arthur wakes to the smell of coffee, waffles and bacon. He shouldn’t be able to smell that from the bedroom. He also shouldn’t be able to – _thunk_ – fall off the couch. Ah, right.

A mug of coffee is placed in front of his bleary eyes. “Happy weekend.” Arthur mumbles something in reply. “Why did you sleep on the sofa?” The voice is too cheerful for the morning.

“I. Um.” Coffee first, black with a hint of sugar. Strong but drinkable. “I was up late. Didn’t want to wake you.”

“No, I couldn’t imagine wanting to be woken up by my incredibly sexy boyfriend so we could have sleepy middle-of-the-night sex instead of shivering in separate rooms.”

Arthur doesn’t have anything to say to that. Eames hands him a waffle. He bites off a corner and chews. Dips it in a bowl of maple syrup and takes another bite. Eyes the tattoos on his boyfriend’s naked torso.

Eames sighs. “Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

Arthur’s looks says _there’s nothing for this to be about_.

“Are you saying you worked all night? Because maybe I should mention that the note I left you yesterday morning is still on your laptop, and that when I went to bed there was no sign of my discs and now _Stir It Up_ is sitting on the DVD player.”

“Sorry, I’ll put that back.”

Eames’s fingers tap on the coffee table. “Arthur, were you out here watching my porn all night while I was in our bed missing you?” He looks halfway between concerned and smugly amused. “I certainly didn’t know it was better than the real deal, love. Did you enjoy yourself?” The smirk shows in his voice as well as on his face.

Arthur tips back the last of the coffee, stands up and pads towards the bathroom. “I need a shower.”

“Want company?” Eames asks lewdly. The door closes in his face. “Right-o.”

Eames cleans up from breakfast, leaving another waffle on a plate for Arthur. The shower stops, the door to the bedroom opens, and Eames dries his hands as he walks down the hall to lean against the door frame.

“You’ve never had a problem with my job before,” he says shortly.

“I’d never seen your movies before,” Arthur replies, rummaging around in the dresser.

“…So? What changed?”

Arthur sighs, and leans on the drawer for a moment, giving Eames a view of his perky arse under the towel. “How do you do it?”

“Well, Arthur, when a boy becomes a man, he starts getting these urges…”

“Fuck off, Eames.” He pulls on a t-shirt and pulls out the bottom drawer of the dresser. “Do you have any sweats?” Eames throws him a pair from the chair by the door. “You know what I mean. I know you don’t have to act well to be in porn. You are, in fact, a horrible actor. Remember Hamlet in the park? The entire audience was in stitches. How the hell do you make Hamlet a comedy, Eames?”

“My Hamlet was sick of being a whiny little arse. He wanted to see people laugh.”

Arthur crawls onto the bed and sits at the foot. “Okay, whatever that means. But I could tell you were acting. But I can’t see you acting in those movies, Eames. It’s like it’s real.”

Eames’s looks puzzled. “Backhanded compliment, but thank you anyway. Do you want another waffle?” He half-turns towards the kitchen, prepared to bring Arthur the remains of his breakfast in bed.

“ _Don’t_ walk away from this, Eames. I need to know if it’s real.” Eames looks at him incredulously, and Arthur continues. “I thought it was hot, you know, dating a porn star. You never rubbed it in my face; it was just your job, which you’re fucking fantastic at, by the way. But watching those movies, Eames, it was like… like finding out you have someone else.”

“Arthur, hey, it’s not like that. It’s my job, that’s all.”

“I don’t fuck my colleagues, Eames. That’s what it’s like. It’s like you’re going out and you’re fucking other guys, letting _them_ fuck _you_ , and then you come home to me. And I’m the dumb bastard waiting around in an empty bed. You’re up to your ears in sex. You get paid to do what you love most, Eames, and you love every fucking minute of it. What am I even doing here? I’ve got nothing new to bring.”

Before he knows what’s happening, Arthur is on his back on the bedspread, eyes popping, Eames’s hands pinning his shoulders down.

“Don’t ever say that,” Eames growls. “Don’t even _think_ that.”

“But…” Eames captures Arthur’s mouth with his own, silencing him with lips and tongue too fierce to be denied. Arthur pulls away, or tries to, but Eames’s hands are secure and his tongue is working its way past Arthur’s defenses.

“Don’t ever,” Eames breathes into his mouth. There’s a hint of frustration, a hint of anger, a hint of reverence, and Arthur stops fighting.

Eames hauls him farther up the bed, as if he weighs nothing, and a knee is worked between Arthur’s legs. Arthur may or may not whimper.

“You know those films were made before I knew you,” Eames pants between kisses. Arthur tips his head to accept one to his neck, trying to free his arms so he can pull Eames to him. “I was a different person, I could _be_ different people, make them up and wear them like a suit and _be_ them. And it didn’t matter. It wasn’t me, and it was okay. But not anymore.” He rocks forward, and the friction makes Arthur start to harden under his borrowed sweatpants.

“It’s you, Arthur,” Eames whispers by his ear, and Arthur frees one hand so he can grab the back of Eames’s head and pull him in for a kiss. It’s sweetness and desperation, tongues rubbing against each other and pulling back to fight tip to tip. Arthur’s arm is still trapped by Eames’s hand, but then the grip changes and Eames is pulling both of Arthur’s arms up over his head and moving to straddle Arthur’s hips.

“I don’t want to be anyone else when I can be with you, Arthur.” The intensity in his eyes causes Arthur’s hands to clench, holding Eames close, the only thing he can control in this moment. His hips buck up, but it’s the wrong angle and he can’t get friction. Eames holds eye contact and they breathe together, neither one getting quite enough air. Arthur calms. He’s not entirely sure what Eames means, but he’ll get an explanation. Either now or after. “Can you keep your hands up for me?” Eames murmurs. “Please?” Arthur swallows, and nods. Somehow this, Eames just asking and believing that Arthur will obey, is better than the ropes that are in the bedside table.

Eames’s hands leave his feeling hot and empty and he curls them into fists, wishing he had something to hold on to. But they stay above his head. Eames’s hands run down his arms, lightly, then faster down his sides to the bottom of his t-shirt. They slide back up, under the t-shirt, pulling it up and over. Arthur arches his back to free himself from it.

“I can’t believe you’re jealous,” Eames whispers into his ear. Arthur shivers and arches under him. “Jealous of actors, mere boys, no life to them, no feeling. You… You’re so alive, Arthur, you make me feel alive, and I don’t want anyone but you. Your lips –”he dives down to capture Arthur’s lips, licking over them, into them, between them. He nips at the lower lip until Arthur moans and surges up, clashing teeth in his desire to possess and be possessed. Eames pulls back, kissing along the side of his mouth, trailing across his cheek and jaw. He bites at Arthur’s earlobe, then licks at the sensitive skin just under it. “– your sass –” His hands run up Arthur’s side, lightly, raising hairs, and Arthur squirms briefly until Eames’s large hand comes to rest on the side of his face. Eames is dabbing small, petite kisses up along his temple. “– your brain. My god, Arthur, you’re so smart, I can’t even have an intelligent conversation at work, it’s impossible.” His eyes lock onto Arthur’s, steel grey gazing into warm amber brown, his hands tight now on either side of Arthur’s head, thumbs tracing gentle circles on his temples.

“There is no one that I want but you,” he repeats.

“Well,” Arthur replies, slightly breathless. He shifts slightly and Eames frees a leg. Arthur shoves his hips upward, aching for friction. “I, um, likewise.” He swallows. “But if I was looking for a mind-fuck, Eames, I’d audit a class on quantum physics, or paradoxes, or theoretical architecture. I was rather hoping we could get down to some good old-fashioned fucking?”

Eames laughs heartily, pushing his thigh up harder and listening for the quick intake of breath, the small high-pitched gasp that Arthur tries to hide. He licks up the side of Arthur’s face, lewdly, and bites down on his ear again. “Sassy. Keep your hands up.”

“This isn’t scripted, Eames, you don’t get to tell – ah!”

Eames admires the bite mark ringing his lover’s nipple, two arcs of fresh red dots. His smile is all teeth. “Keep your hands _up_ , darling.”

“Bastard. I need something to hold.” It’s not as cutting as he’d like, and the demand comes out more as a broken request.

Eames reaches up, stretching Arthur’s arms until he can curl his hands around the posts of the headboard. Arthur fidgets for a moment, shifting to find a comfortable position as his hands remain wrapped around the wood. Eames takes this time to scoot down his lover’s body, settling between his legs. Once Arthur has calmed, Eames licks over his pec, soothing the bite with small laps from the tip of his tongue and then a broad stroke right up the middle.

Arthur shivers, and arches into the touch. Eames rewards him with small kisses down the center of his chest, a quick flick of his tongue into the hollow of his belly button, before following the thin trail of hair lower. He grips the waistband of Arthur’s sweats in his teeth, nudging it lower while rubbing his nose over the sensitive skin there. Arthur thrusts his hips up, whimpering, scrabbling with a foot to find purchase on the slippery bed sheets so he can thrust up harder.

“Eames?” he asks. “Please?”

“Shh,” Eames replies. His thumbs rub small circles into the hollow of Arthur’s pelvis, right above the line of the sweats. He nuzzles into the line of hair leading downward, and holds tight as Arthur tries to buck up again. Arthur’s cock strains against the material of the sweats, leaving a small wet spot of precome. Eames licks over it, listening for Arthur’s gasp.

“Fuck, Eames.”

Another lick, and another. Arthur is squirming, straining upwards but Eames’s hands hold him firm. Eames looks up to find Arthur watching him, pupils wide and mouth panting. Slowly, keeping eye contact, Eames extends his tongue to play with the tip of Arthur’s cock through the sweats. He swirls it around, extending the wet patch, enjoying the feel of the material under his tongue and as it rubs across the sensitive skin below. When Arthur’s head falls back and all Eames can see is his chest, rising and falling sharply with every breath, he finally puts his lips over the tip of the erection, sucking through the fabric. Arthur shudders, convulsions rippling through his body from his hands, white-knuckled on the headboard, through his back arching off the bed, his hips constrained by Eames’s large hands, to his feet, twitching helplessly on the sheets.

“Oh God, Eames, please, I want, oh God…”

With one last suck at the tip of Arthur’s cock through the fabric, Eames grabs the waistband of Arthur’s sweats and pulls them off. Arthur expects him to get right back to work but instead he sits on his heels between Arthur’s unashamedly splayed legs, admiring the body laid out in front of him.

“God you’re fit, Arthur.” He skims his hands along Arthur’s legs, pushing his thighs apart gently and bending down to take in the musk that is distinctly Arthur, with just a hint of soap from his shower. “So fucking fit, those boys have nothing on you.” He licks a stripe up the underside of his cock as a tease, noses at his balls, then moves lower. He licks a dry stripe up his crack, then starts prodding with the wet tip of his tongue at Arthur’s hole. He eases in, then pulls out and swirls around the rim, feeling the muscle flutter under his ministrations. Above him, Arthur makes the most delicious sounds, moans and whimpers and curses as he shifts his legs, lifts his hips and falls back down to the bed.

Eames takes his time, alternating thrusts of his tongue with tickles and swirls at the rim. Arthur tries to relax with every intrusion, but ends up clenching down on Eames’s tongue inside him. Eames just waits until Arthur calms, then forces in another fraction before pulling out and lapping around his hole. The tip of his tongue catches at the rim, pulling at the muscle until it’s dilating, grasping, waiting for Eames to fill it again. Arthur cries his name between curses, begging for more.

When Eames pulls away and sits up, Arthur glares. “That didn’t mean stop, you know.”

Eames smirks, and grabs both a pillow and the bottle of lube from the nightstand. The pillow goes under Arthur’s hips, the lube he sets close at hand. While up, he shucks off his trousers. His cock is painfully hard and he gives it a gentle squeeze before climbing back onto the bed. He crawls up to give Arthur a kiss, soft and filthy and full of tongue and teeth. Arthur’s hands are still wrapped around the posts on the headboard, but his legs wrap up and around Eames’s hips, pulling him down and rubbing up against his cock. Eames’s arms almost give out with the sudden friction, and he moans into Arthur’s mouth.

“Let me go, pet, I’m not nearly done with you,” he growls huskily. Arthur rubs up again and Eames almost forgets himself, his hips rutting down of their own accord. A shot of pleasure, white and sharp, runs up his body. “Arthur, for the love of god, I want to come inside you, not on top of you.”

Arthur makes a moue of disappointment, but his legs fall back to the mattress. “I guess when you ask so nicely, I can’t refuse.”

“I couldn’t refuse you anything,” Eames admits as he smears lube onto his hand, rubbing it between his fingers to warm it. He teases his slick fingers at Arthur’s entrance, resting his other hand on the inside of Arthur’s thigh to keep his legs apart. “I think about this constantly, you know. At work the boys are always so open, ready, but I love how tight you are, Arthur.” He pushes a finger in, slickly, smoothly, feeling the velvety softness within and the clench of muscles surrounding his finger. “God, I love working you open, making you ready for me. That you trust me to do this for you, it’s so bloody sexy, Arthur.”

He slides a second finger in, a bit too soon, but drips more lube on his fingers and pushes them back in. Arthur whines and rocks his hips gently, loving the intrusion and willing his body not to fight it.

“More,” he gasps, “tell me more.”

Eames shifts his fingers within Arthur, scissoring and stretching the muscles that fight him momentarily before relaxing. “So willing, but trusting, I love how – how you’re so sure of yourself, but so able to let go.” He pushes in farther, curling his fingers upward. His free hand moves to Arthur’s stomach, pushing down as his fingers massage within. Arthur’s back arches, spasming as pleasure rushes through him, hot and almost painful as Eames works his prostate.

“Pleasuring you is one of my favorite things in the world. My job is all about sex, not pleasure, and it saps the enjoyment out of coupling. Sticking your cock into a willing hole is worth nothing if there’s no connection, Arthur.” He flexes his fingers once more, pushing down harder.

“Jesus Christ!” Arthur’s eyes fly open, and one hand comes off of the headboard to grasp the base of his cock. “Eames, what are you…?”

Eames backs off on the pressure, switching to a gentle rubbing across Arthur’s stomach and light strokes just within his entrance, as his partner comes back from the brink.

“I need that connection, Arthur. I didn’t even realize I was missing it until I had you, and you are so exquisite. This is my last film, and I’m done with acting. No more. It’s you I want, no one else.”

Arthur makes a broken noise, looking up at Eames with wide eyes, pupils blown, so close to orgasm that every breath he takes is a struggle.

“Come here,” he orders shakily. Eames does so, removing his fingers gently and sliding up Arthur’s body until their faces are inches apart. Arthur kisses him then, sweetly, lips playing and tongues dancing together. Both hands are off the bedframe now, and he lets them wander over Eames’s back, outlining his tattoos with gentle touches. Probing with his tongue a bit deeper, he pulls Eames closer, reveling in the weight and the proximity and the heat. Eames pulls away eventually, his eyes hazy with emotion and lust.

“Fuck me,” Arthur tells him. Eames is only too happy to obey. He sits up and slicks himself, ensuring his lover’s readiness by pushing three fingers in. Arthur, hands freed, rocks up on his elbows to watch. He shifts his hips and moans when Eames pushes the tip of his cock in, tipping his head back and opening his mouth wide. Eames braces himself on one hand, and as soon as he has sunk all the way in, his free hand runs up Arthur’s body. His fingers settle briefly and lightly around Arthur’s throat before traveling past his chin to dip into his mouth. Arthur closes his lips around them and sucks, mewling happily.

“You’re so tight, but you take me so well,” Eames praises as he slowly pulls out, then pushes back in. Arthur’s tongue flicks between his fingers, and his muscles clench around Eames’s cock. “God, you know just how to tear me apart. I think about this sometimes, at work. How much better it would be if it were you, all silky smooth and slick and tight, milking me. The sounds you make as my cock is in you, joining us, making us one. How I want to last forever and not last at all, to forever be in you and always mark you as mine.” He brings his weight down onto his elbow, lying over Arthur so that their chests brush with every thrust. His fingers fall from Arthur’s mouth with a wet sound and he plunders it with his tongue instead, straining to maintain his rhythm. He shifts his hips, and Arthur cries out into his mouth, his hands scrabbling at Eames’s back. Nails bite into flesh, and Eames sinks that little bit farther in.

“I love how much… how much you love this,” Eames gasps out. “I wonder sometimes, how it would feel – god, so tight – how it would feel to have you fuck me – _Arthur!_ – into the mattress, to leave me full… full and dripping, knowing that you – bloody hell – wanted me, wanted to mark me, have me, for– forever. Oh god, Arthur, darling, fuck…”

Arthur is milking him with every stroke, clenching down unconsciously as Eames grazes his prostate over and over. Eames has one hand on his cock, stroking in time. His eyes lock onto Arthur’s face, the other’s growing more and more hazy as the pleasure builds.

“So fucking gorgeous, Arthur,” Eames pants. “Come for me, love. Come on, fuck, I’ve got you.”

Arthur’s eyes seek Eames’s, and the love and security he sees there tips him over the edge, the sensation washing up through his body. His legs clench, his hips buck upwards and his back arches. He hears his own moan distantly, a broken sound as his sight whites out and his hands grasp his lover’s back. Eames gives two stuttered thrusts before plunging deep, deeper than before, and crying out his own release. His supporting arm gives out and he slumps down, craving the closeness. His teeth nip at Arthur’s neck, leaving tiny marks as the last of his seed floods deep into his partner.

They lie there panting, sweat cooling and hearts pounding, until Arthur realizes his fingernails have cut into Eames’s back. He releases his grip with a small apology, running his hands soothingly along the broken skin.

“I don’t mind,” Eames says, nuzzling into his neck. “I told you. Mark me, take me, I’m yours, love.”

Arthur makes a small noise in his throat, and Eames pushes himself up slightly. Arthur has a questioning look. “I thought you didn’t like to receive,” he says a little bitterly.

“I tried it when I was younger,” Eames says, pulling out gently. Arthur winces. “And then once for a film, but it wasn’t something I enjoyed just for the act of it. It needed to be about love, and trust, and I didn’t find that for a long time. But it’s something I’d like to try, with you.” He looks down at Arthur’s slowly growing smile and can’t resist a quick kiss. “I’ll be back, let me get a cloth.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything when Eames returns, or when the damp cloth gently wipes away the semen on his belly and between his legs. He’s silent as Eames cuddles up behind him, pulling him back against his broad chest. Arthur can feel the come trying to leak out of him, marking him, and smiles into his pillow.

“I love you, too,” he tells Eames, and is pulled closer until every part of their bodies that can touch are flush together, a transference of warmth, security and love.

**Author's Note:**

> As someone who has never watched named porn (I know right, what have I done with my life?!) I think the most fun part of writing this was thinking up the titles of Eames's films.


End file.
